


A Carol of Dreaming Spires

by Ashura



Category: Oxford Time Travel Universe - Connie Willis
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5467511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashura/pseuds/Ashura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three Christmases Colin spends in Oxford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Carol of Dreaming Spires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/gifts).



**Christmas Past: December, 2056**

 

A long tube, festively wrapped in sparkling scarlet paper, swung around from under the arm of the wool-clad woman carrying it and hit Colin in the head. She ignored his indignant squeak and carried on, quickly lost in the crowd of shoppers and commuters making their way out of the Little Clarendon tube station. Colin ducked beneath elbows, between umbrellas and shopping bags, until he finally emerged in the grey, rainsoaked street. 

Dunworthy was supposed to be meeting him, and Colin scanned the crowd searching for him. No sign of him – but then, the train was a little late, and it had taken longer than it should have to get out of the station; maybe he'd popped into one of the cafes to get out of the rain. Colin gripped his suitcase and started down the street, peering anxiously into the windows. Even if something had happened, he could just walk to Balliol; Finch knew he was coming. He wasn't worried. Definitely not worried. 

As he was reassuring himself of that fact, he registered a girl's voice calling his name. He turned to see Kivrin Engle, bundled up in a duffel coat and black-and-yellow Brasenose scarf, waving frantically at him. 

“Colin! Over here!” she relaxed when he started toward her, pushing her hood partway back to grin at him. “I wasn't sure you'd ever see me, you looked pretty lost in thought. Dunworthy's stuck in a meeting, I said I'd come get you. Want a hand?” 

He shook his head, ignoring the relief he now felt as pointedly as he'd ignored the anxiety it replaced. “I got it.” She started down the road and he followed, two small figures slipping through the crowds. They turned down St Giles, beneath the sodden garlands of evergreen strung from the lampposts, hoods pulled up against the rain.

There was a crack of thunder, and the skies opened; what had been a dismal but unremarkable rain became an attack from above. Kivrin grabbed Colin's arm and tugged him through an archway, seeking refuge beneath the ancient stones of the Ashmolean. They huddled there as the rain soaked the pavement, pale with December chill. 

“Colin,” Kivrin asked, her breath ghosting into the air like a wisp of cloud, “it's good to see you, of course, but why'd you come up for Christmas and not stay with your mum?” The end of the question, _without Dr Ahrens_ , was left unspoken but he heard it all the same. 

He shrugged. “She's got other plans. Anyway, I wanted to come check on things here, make sure you're all getting on all right without me.” He grinned at her, defiant. “You're not going home either?” 

Kivrin's cheeks were pale beneath her hood, streaked with rain, her eyes glittering grey. She was now shorter than Colin. “Ha. I haven't gone back for Christmas in years. Not since I started here, anyway. Too much reading to do, and the library's quieter over the vac.”

“Well I had to come then, didn't I?” Colin said gamely. “Who knows what trouble you'd get into without me?”

Kivrin made a face at him, and he pretended not to see the haunted shadow in her eyes. “I've no doubt you'd come to the rescue, whatever trouble it was.”

“Of _course_ I would,” he declared. Kivrin smiled again, shaking her head in tolerant affection. He was suddenly, fiercely glad they had been able to find her, that she hadn't been trapped in history after all. 

They waited, shivering, for the rain to let up. When it showed no signs of easing, they raced helter-skelter across the road, laughing, toward Balliol's halls.

Finch let them in, though he was fussing about something neither of them paid attention to. Kivrin helped Colin haul his bag up the narrow stairs to Dunworthy's rooms, where they could overhear the hum of voices through the door. 

A shouted, “Come in!” answered their knock, and Colin nudged open the door. Dunworthy was just hanging up the vidphone when he turned to greet them. 

“You made it,” he said, sounding almost surprised. “Any problems getting in?” 

Colin shook his head emphatically. “Nope. Crowded but it was fine. Not like last year.” 

“Fortunately,” Dunworthy said, with a glance at Kivrin, “nothing is like last year.” He looked concerned, but she smiled; it was determined if a little haunted.

“I'll put the kettle on,” she said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Colin watched her go. “Is she all right?” 

Dunworthy looked as if he were about to say one of the patronising things adults say to children to keep them from worrying, and Colin was fully prepared to head it off. Then he shook his head. “As much as can be expected. Are you?”

“Me? Oh, I'm fine,” Colin said carelessly, and pulled the presents he'd brought out of his bag. “I got these for you. Um – thanks for letting me come up for Christmas. It's good to be here. Even with everything.” 

Dunworthy took the presents and set them on the windowsill, half-tucked under a small decorated tree he had there. There were a few others, stacked neatly, and one definitely said _To Colin_ on the tag. 

“It's good to see you, too,” he said, and Colin never doubted for a moment that he meant it.

 

**Christmas Present: December, 2062**

 

Tiny white laser lights glittered from the branches of the squat fir tree in the Bodleian quad, the library's only concession to the festive season. Inside, the reading room was quiet – not silent, but the expectation made the turning of pages, footsteps and hesitant coughing seem echoingly loud. The tinny sound of the carillon, pumping a vague approximation of 'O Come All Ye Faithful' into the frozen air, sometimes caught a gust of wind that brought it howling through Upper's aged windows. The sky outside those windows was black, but the streets were lit in the flashing red-and-white lights draped over every lamppost and awning.

Colin stared at the yellowed newspaper in front of him till the words swam before his eyes. The big papers had all been digitised decades ago, but nobody had ever bothered putting little local newsletters onto so much as a microfiche, so here he was, while the rest of the college were off having their breaking-up-for-Christmas drinks, spending quality time with the _Didcot Tattler_. 

That he was certain nobody expected him to be at the college party was both a relief and inspired a certain faint longing. He could picture the Old Common Room, the walls hung with evergreen branches and holly, the inevitable mistletoe dangling from the disapproving visage of the portrait of old Benjamin Jowett. There would be mince pies and mulled wine that the porters would absolutely insist had to be finished before everyone could go home.

Kivrin hadn't been at all surprised when he said he'd miss it. “Don't worry,” she assured him. “I'll make excuses for you if anyone asks. Just come by after the Bod closes for the night. It'll probably still be going, but if not, you can at least come to the pub after.” 

Kivrin was not actually even a member of Balliol, but the college porters seemed to have forgotten that years ago. She turned up with Badhri or Dunworthy or even with Colin, when he could be bothered to go to things.

“ _...congratulations to Miss Merope Kent of Oxford for her success in raising over £300 for the Templer Foundation to contribute to Churchill's war effort..._ ” Colin rubbed at his eyes. Every time he found one, he still had to try to puzzle out what on earth it meant. What the bloody hell was Michael trying to tell him? Other than that Polly and Eileen were still there and alive on whatever day this was.

He waited for the rest of the letters to resolve into words before his tired eyes, and transcribed each one, then added in the date. The glowing LED numbers on his digital blinked brazenly at him in silent alarm – twenty to ten. Time to go. The reading room librarian, a raccoon-eyed postgraduate who looked more than a little hungover, was already shuffling around, putting things away and shooting the stragglers meaningful looks. Colin dropped the _Didcot Tattler_ on her desk with a sheepish smile and gathered up his things.

He muttered “Merry Christmas” to her as he left and made his way outside. The drop in temperature was enough to shock him into alertness, and he tightened the striped Balliol scarf around his neck and turned up his collar against the cold.

His shoes clacked against the cobbles as he crossed beneath the shadowed arches toward Broad Street. Balliol was dark as well, breaking up the twinkling rows of laser lights, stealing only a little light from the tourist centre's tree nearby. He nodded at the porter, who waved him through the gate, and scanned the buildings for signs of life. 

Clusters of his fellow students crossed the quad, flushed and giggling, or huddled in doorways gossiping in exaggerated whispers. One or two he recognised when they waved. The solemn darkness was broken here by the college Christmas tree, plunked in the middle of the quad and gleaming merrily with multi-coloured lights.

“Templer!” Freddie Harris, also reading history, pulled himself away momentarily from his conversation to catch Colin's attention. They'd known each other at Eton, though not very well; now they went for an occasional drink and said hello in the quad when they met. “They're still at it in there, so go get the free drinks, but we're headed to the Horse after if you want to join us.” 

“Cheers,” Colin said, suddenly pleased for the invitation, although he probably wouldn't take them up on it. He could hear what sounded like “Sleigh Ride” from inside the Old Common Room, and followed it until it mixed with laughter and the buzz of tipsy conversation. Despite the ambient noise level, the hall wasn't crowded; most of the undergrads had already left for the pub or other parties. Colin saw Badhri's white head and Dunworthy's grey one; he caught a glimpse of Finch ducking into a corridor. 

“You made it.” Dunworthy didn't sound as surprised as he might have, and while his smile was worm, his face showed tension around the eyes. “Is it ten already? I suppose it is.”

“For a time traveller,” Badri said dryly, “you have an awful sense for actually keeping it.” He passed Colin a glance of champagne. “Kivrin said you'd be along if we waited long enough. She's gone out for a bit of air, I think.” 

“I'll go say hello.” Years ago, Colin had been irrationally jealous of Badri's attachment to Kivrin. He'd been fifteen; it was long before he met Polly and Kivrin had been one of his only allies. She'd taken his childish crush in good humour, and now that they'd settled into a close and comfortable friendship, he appreciated her never having laughed at him for it. She hadn't laughed about his loving Polly either, and he appreciated that even more. It was hard enough to explain to people.

He found her in the Fellows' Garden, shivering in a light wrap and staring up at the sky. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders by way of saying hello. “You all right?”

“Fine.” She pulled the coat tighter around herself gratefully. She looked like a child in it. “What about you? I'm glad you came.” 

Colin shrugged sheepishly. “Well, they kicked me out of the Bod, and I do technically live here. I think they had to let me in.” 

“Did you find anything?”

He shook his head . “Yes and no. There's another one of those codes, but I haven't worked it out.” 

Kivrin's face was still tilted up. The clear winter sky contributed to the chill, but the stars glittered like the fairy lights on the Christmas trees. “You will,” she said. 

The bells began to chime ten – first Carfax, hollow and eerily bright, followed by the colleges and churches throughout Oxford. Something dark flickered across Kivrin's face. Colin put his arm around her. “You sure you're all right?” 

She didn't answer immediately. The moment stretched – not silent, but echoing with the hourly chimes of a dozen ancient bells. 

“Yes,” Kivrin said at last. “It's hard to explain. I've been all right for years, but they feel closer some times than others.” She twisted around to look up at him. Her cheeks were pink with cold, and her bright red lipstick stood out in her fair face. “I know you'll find her, Col.” 

He hadn't realised, until he heard it, how badly he needed to. His arm tightened around her shoulders. “Well, if you say it, who am I to doubt?” 

“You'll keep looking,” she said, and leaned against his shoulder. “We can't leave our own behind. You'll find her.” 

It was freezing. They stood there until Badri came to find them. Kivrin insisted on their all following the others to the White Horse, where they crowded into the tiny pub and listened to the undergrads sing carols, raucous and out of tune. After a few mugs of mulled wine and the third rendition of 'Fairytale of New York' (just what _had_ the twentieth century been thinking when it came to music, anyway?) Colin felt almost normal, and more confident than he had any right to be.

 

**Christmas Future: December, 2069**

 

The scene was a cosy one – Christmas orphans scattered around Dunworthy's rooms in Balliol, greenery frosted with artificial snow along the windowsill and mantelpiece, a few scattered red candles taking the place of a Yule log, chains made of folded wrapping paper strung across the doorframes.

It was tradition, by now: Dunworthy in his armchair, Badri folded onto one end of the faded sofa and Kivrin curled against him. Colin stretched out on the floor in front of the blocked-off fireplace. The only new addition this year was Polly, perched on the floor with a tartan blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Colin snuck looks at her while pretending to read the book Kivrin had given him. 

She probably should have gone home to her own family for the holidays, but her family weren't historians. They'd had eight years to get used to the idea of not seeing her again, and when she reappeared, the same age she'd been when she left...well, from what she told him, it wasn't comfortable. 

He'd pointed out she could go back, if she wanted – he'd gone and got her from 2068, but that didn't mean she had to stay there. He couldn't go backward, but she could. He wasn't actually sure if that was true – all the time he'd spent looking for her probably affected her timeline – but he was prepared to find out. 

She'd looked wistful, and also like she couldn't quite decide. “Weren't you wanting me to flash-time so we'd be the same age?” 

“Yes,” Colin had said, “but I've waited this long. Another few years would...well, probably not kill me.” She'd just squeezed his hand.

Her family were, of course, thrilled to have her back. It was just strange for all of them. Even in Oxford, even in History, few enough people understood. The students did, but in an abstract, academic way. The day to day reality of it, the perpetual confusion at feeling just slightly, constantly out of place was Polly's alone.

Colin was careful, or at least, he tried to be. He tried to be supportive but not smothering, even if it was harder to do in practice than it was in his head. He knew – partly because Polly reminded him sometimes – that it wasn't always helpful when he wanted to rush in and rearrange the universe to fix things for her. He just had some trouble with the idea of watching her struggle.

She wasn't struggling now, though, because she was spending Christmas day with the smaller group of people who could understand, if not perfectly, at least better than anyone else. Her fair hair was pulled back in a loose knot, her hands cupped around a mug of mulled wine. She wore jeans and a bright red Christmas jumper with a tree on the front, with sequins where the ornaments would be, and when she caught him looking at her, her smile made his face flush.

All right, so it wasn't always _easy_ , but there wasn't a moment he regretted losing when it meant there were times when she smiled at him that way.

Badri rose from the settee, long-limbed and relaxed. “Anyone else fancy some of that Christmas cake while I'm up?” Kivrin and Colin both raised their hands; Polly and Dunworthy declined.

He returned a moment later, cake in hand. “The Queen's Message is about to start, for those as are inclined. On the telly in the common room, Finch is turning it on.” 

It was ritual, more than patriotism, when they all got to their feet and shuffled out the door, a small bright parade of Christmas jumpers and cheer. Colin took rather a long time finding his shoes.

“Pol – hold back a second, will you? We can catch up?” 

She leaned against the doorframe, waiting for him. “Of course. This isn't so you can 'accidentally' push me under the mistletoe again, is it? Because one of these days it's going to make poor Dunworthy's head explode.”

Colin grinned. “I know. You're the only one who has an excuse to still look at me like I'm a kid, and you don't do it half as much as he does.”

Polly rolled her eyes. “That was evasion.” 

Colin shrugged, grinned at her in as much innocence as he could summon through an increasing nervousness. “Fine. It was because I have another present for you and it doesn't need an audience.” He put his arm around her shoulders to draw her outside, certain she could feel his heart pounding right through his skin. 

She could, apparently, and stopped him just outside in the Garden Quad. It was snowing, a light dusting of picturesque flakes that dusted her hair and her shoulders. “Are you all right?” 

“Fine,” Colin promised. Polly's cheeks were pink and snowflakes clung to her eyelashes. There was nothing else for it; he'd come this far. He fished her last Christmas present out of his jeans pocket. “Open this, will you? I'll explain when you see it.” 

He waited while her cold fingers fumbled with the paper, in silence but for the pounding of his heart in his ears. She let out a long breath, holding the ring up toward the light, a slim twist of rose-gold wrapped around a pale quartz. The torn wrapping paper fluttered toward the ground. “Does this need an explanation?” She sounded nervous too. 

“It was my grandma's.” Colin swallowed. “She got it in Egypt when she went with Great-Aunt Mary.” He reached for Polly's hand, closing it in cold fingers. “It was during the Pandemic, and they both said it was a big risk but they were so glad they took it. Look – I know it hasn't been an easy year, and maybe it's too early to be asking you this, so I want you to have the ring no matter what you say. But Pol, you _know_ I love you, and have forever, and I'll wait as long as you want, but...well, just in case you didn't want to wait either. It's a risk too, I guess, but do you think you might want to get married?” 

She was silent for a long moment, and Colin waited, as still and quiet as if he were waiting for the Net to activate. But the only shimmer in the air was the snow. Polly was looking thoughtfully at Colin's fingers, as if she were thinking very hard. 

“Yes,” she said at last, in a voice that sounded surprised at its own conviction. “I rather think I do, actually.” 

Colin had been steeling himself for refusal, and now his mouth dropped open. “Really?”

Polly did laugh, then. “Really,” she said, and leaned up to kiss him. The snowflakes melted on her lips, and Colin felt dizzy. He slipped the ring onto her finger, holding her hands between his. 

“That's –” he began, and stopped, because he didn't know what else to say. He was sure he was grinning like a lunatic. 

“Yes,” Polly agreed, and tugged at him. “But it's freezing. Let's go inside and watch with the others. It's going to start right at three. We can tell them after.”

“Right,” Colin agreed, and it really was freezing, but he kissed her again anyway.

It struck three. All over Oxford the bells began to chime, and he had never heard them sound so joyous.


End file.
